


Subject E-308: January 4th, 2017

by write_away



Series: Subject E-308 [2]
Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Caleb is in Tier Five, Wadsworth has Plans for Caleb and they all involve emotional trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22027993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/write_away/pseuds/write_away
Summary: About a month and a half after Caleb Michaels turns himself into the AM, he becomes subject to his first atypical experiment. Failure, it seems, is his only option.
Series: Subject E-308 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1585576
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Subject E-308: January 4th, 2017

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! Welcome to "Subject E-308"-verse, otherwise known as "Caleb's in Tier Five." This is a continuation of my fic, "Subject E-308: November 23rd, 2016," but it stands alone. In this verse, Caleb turned himself in to the AM following "Safe House."
> 
> Enjoy!

Caleb isn’t sure what’s more disturbing - the fact that he’s been marched into a science lab containing little beyond a table that is more straps than surface, or the fact that everyone around him is incredibly calm. Some are curious, but most are bored and restless. 

This is routine to them. 

It makes Caleb feel a little sick. 

His stomach rolls, acid burning up his throat, but there’s nothing to puke up even if he wanted to. He’s ravenous, but stubborn. He wants nothing they give to him. Not worth the risk. 

He had overheard a guard musing that they’d have to install a feeding tube if he continued like this, and the rush of  _ annoyance _ was almost satisfying. If they want to play this game, Caleb can do it. He knows how to be a fucking nuisance. 

The tile is cold and smooth and slippery beneath his bare feet, and his hands are fastened tightly behind his back, so there is little opportunity to struggle as the guard presses into the small of his back and shoves him toward what Caleb has decided to dub the Torture Table. Before he can even think to squirm, he’s bent over the edge of the unforgiving steel with a firm hand securing him by the nape of his neck. 

“Fuck,” he mutters into the metal. “Buy me dinner first.”

The guard doesn’t respond. The guard doesn’t even react. Methodically, he unlocks the cuffs around Caleb’s wrists and, with the help of another agent, manhandles him onto his back. The steel is freezing; goosebumps appear on his skin immediately. 

Caleb puts in a token struggle as they strap him down. It’s hard to stay afloat of his own feelings - his own terror - when everyone around him is so fucking calm. It’s like a wool blanket trying to suffocate him from the inside out. 

He only gets one good punch in before they secure his arms. It’s a shame. 

Then, they leave and Caleb is alone with his emotions for the first time in -  _ god, _ he can’t even remember. He takes the blessed moment to check in with himself. 

Physically, well - he’s a disaster. He feels grimy and cold and so fucking hungry but he’s not about to give up now. His hand  _ aches,  _ the fingers barely healed from the incident at the safe house, and his head hurts so badly from being stuck in the basement surrounded by so many emotions that he has to resist the urge to cry. 

The leather straps are warming against his skin but they feel too tight, and his fingertips have pins and needles. His hands are bound above his head, his forehead secured to the table with a thick strip of buckles, and the rest of his body - well, he can’t move. 

It’s a less terrifying notion than he thinks it should be. 

If he’s physically a disaster, his emotions are somehow worse. He’s scared and lonely and tired and  _ guilty _ , he’s so fucking guilty that part of him can’t help but think: _ I deserve this _ . 

_ This is where I belong.  _

And he knows that’s not true, knows that no human ought to be used as a lab rat, but that doesn’t stop the creeping fear that he isn’t human. 

Adam always says he’s something more, but what if he’s actually something  _ less _ ? 

It’s this thought that is swirling in his head when the doors creak open. He can feel the crowd’s curiosity reaching out like vines, choking him. Heels clack -  _ Wadsworth  _ \- and the bile rises again in his throat. He is not in the mood for her questions today. 

Strangely, she doesn’t ask any. In a breath, she is standing over him, her lab coat crisp and clean, her gloves reeking of rubber and powder as she prods at his bindings. She loosens the one around his head, then tightens the ones around his ankles and wrists, her entire being thrumming with satisfaction as she looks at him like he’s nothing more than a specimen in a petri dish.

“Good morning to you, too, Annabelle,” he says in a moment of bravery. She meets his gaze with steely eyes, her emotions shifting into disgust, and he immediately regrets ever opening his mouth. 

She reaches into a pocket and pulls out a wad of cotton. Caleb barely has time to process what an idiotic move he’s made before she wrenches his jaw apart and stuffs it between his lips. He chokes, his eyes pricking with tears, and settles on a glare. 

Well, fuck. 

“We have a special task for you today, Caleb,” she says pleasantly. “I require your complete compliance. Nod once if you understand.”

Caleb hesitates, still coughing around the gag. Obviously he understands. But does he agree? Will he comply? He hasn’t decided yet. 

He hears the smack before he feels it, a burning sting across his cheek and the hot spread of pain. He cries out, but it’s a muffled sound - pathetic even to him. 

Wadsworth is still completely calm. 

Caleb nods. 

“Good boy,” Wadsworth praises and he wants to be sick. “Now, we’re going to bring another subject into the room. Nod once if you’re listening.”

Caleb nods. 

Wadsworth is so satisfied and smug that it overwhelms everything else, and Caleb doesn’t know what he wants anymore. He wants to hide. He wants to fight. 

He wants to be good, wants to feel this warmth forever. 

He is intensely aware of how fucked the entire situation is. 

Wadsworth absently uncurls his fist. 

“Good, good,” she says. “Now, your task for today is very simple - when the subject enters the room, we want you to make him angry. It shouldn’t be too difficult - Robert harbors so much rage as is.”

Caleb feels a spike of panic shoot through his spine. Make other people feel things? He doesn’t know how to do that. He doesn’t  _ want _ to do that. What will they do to him if he can’t? 

What if he  _ can? _

The door opens again and he feels a tidal wave of resignation wash over him. It has currents of depression - the numb, aching kind that Adam gets, an emptiness he knows too well by now - and it  _ hurts _ to be pulled under by them. 

He wonders if this is what being waterboarded feels like. 

“What the fuck is  _ he _ doing here?” 

Damien’s voice pulls him out of the sea and chills him to the bone. Caleb tries hopelessly to suck in air, his lungs aching as if he’d really been drowned, but the gag is in the way and he only chokes. It’s a matter of time before he’s dragged back under, before Damien’s feelings bury him alive.

Wadsworth rests a cold hand on his forehead and pushes him flush against the table, as if she can sense the rising instinct to  _ look _ , to see the man whose blood coats his palms in his dreams. 

_ Out, damn spot _ . He wakes from the nightmares with these words on his lips. Adam would be so fucking proud. 

“Caleb is here to  _ help _ , Robert,” Wadsworth says. “Don’t you want to get better?”

_ Want _ . That is the source of that gaping hole in Damien, the empty cavity of emotion. Caleb can feel desire coiled up, ready to spring, but it has no fangs. He has no control. 

Damien has no powers. 

Wadsworth must see the horror playing out across Caleb’s face because she smiles down at him almost fondly. “Oh yes, Caleb,” she says, voice as cloyingly sweet as cotton candy. “You quite literally beat his ability out of him. We’re hoping you can help bring it back.”

“And how exactly is he going to do that?” Damien asks, dubious. “Punch me in the face again?”

Caleb can’t think straight anymore, can’t  _ focus _ with these tides yanking him around. His world narrows down to the emotions in the room. Scared. Lonely. Tired. Empty empty  _ empty.  _

“We’re trying something new for Caleb, so you’ll have to be patient,” Wadsworth explains. “He’s going to try to influence your emotions. If you want it to stop, all you have to do is make him.”

Smug. So fucking confident. Caleb wants to smack her. 

Damien yawns, but Caleb knows his boredom is fake. He can feel the interest poking into him like pinpricks now, precise and careful. “You know what  _ I _ think would help, Director?” he asks. 

“What?”

“Letting me smash his skull in like he did mine.” 

It isn’t anger, not quite, and  _ God _ , of course it couldn’t be that easy. Caleb can’t identify the feeling, but he can taste the undercurrents of amusement like the dregs of cocoa at the bottom of a mug of hot chocolate. 

Amusement at the idea of pounding him to a pulp.  _ Lovely.  _

“You’re to keep your hands to yourself,” Wadsworth warns, but Caleb gets the sense that the words are only for show. What worse can be done to Damien? What punishment can be doled out? The tangle of dread and guilt grows in his stomach. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Damien mocks. 

She ignores him. “And Caleb,” she says as she pats his head as if he’s nothing more than a fucking trained dog. “Just do your best.”

The room feels colder once she’s gone, once her satisfaction has diffused. Caleb hates that there is a part of him that misses it. 

He’s left staring at the white ceiling, blinking away the brightness of the fluorescent lights as he tries to think through the haze of Damien’s emotions. He barely knows how to process the feelings he’s forced to absorb; how the hell is he meant to push anything  _ out _ ? 

Damien sighs after a moment and sits on the edge of the table, his body radiating heat. Caleb scowls as the man leans over him, pressing into his elbow with his palm to balance. 

“You look like hell, kid,” Damien rasps and grabs him by the chin. Caleb hisses as his fingers dig into his cheek. “Oh, yeah, that’s gonna bruise. Reckon it won’t be the last time, either. You seem stupid enough to keep pushing the wrong buttons.”

Caleb can’t dispute that, even if he could speak. Empath or not, he’s never seemed to be able to win the social game. 

Damien yanks his head to the side, still examining the red mark. “The fact that you’re even here?  _ That _ is just fucking proof. Heard you turned yourself in, Subject E-308. What kind of masochistic dumbass  _ are  _ you?”

_ The kind who feels bad for trying to end your life _ , Caleb wants to spit back. If Damien is trying to get him mad, trying to get this over with, he’s failing spectacularly. All Caleb feels is gnawing misery. When will this experiment end? When will Wadsworth decide she’s had enough?

“Idiot,” Damien mutters and finally releases him. “What, are you and your boyfriend into this sort of shit? Because there are easier ways to get kinky than being  _ actually _ held captive by scientists.”

Caleb takes a deep breath and tries again to process the emotions in the room, tries to understand the bite to Damien’s words. If it’s not anger, it has to be something adjacent. 

He doesn’t  _ want  _ to influence Damien’s emotions, but he does want to get out of this damn room. If he can figure out Damien’s mind, maybe he’ll be able to change it. The sooner he does that, the sooner he can sleep and stare at the same four green walls that have become his world since November. 

It’s a little pathetic how quickly they’ve managed to break him. 

Damien seems to understand what he’s thinking about because he pats his cheek and smirks. “No luck yet, kid. Still feel the same as I did when I walked in.” He pauses and glances toward the observation window. “Miserable, tired, and fucking  _ pissed off _ .”

Caleb sighs. He wishes Damien’s powers would come back right now in this moment so that he doesn’t have to be held responsible for anything he says or does. 

So that he doesn’t have to make this decision. 

So that he can’t be blamed for failure. 

He’s  _ going _ to fail, that much is already clear. He hasn’t a clue where to start with this experiment, and even if he did know what to do, he can’t seem to cling on to a train of thought long enough to focus it into a feeling. If Damien is going to get angry, it will happen regardless of Caleb’s abilities. 

The realization feels like a bag of bricks to the stomach: Caleb is not going to produce results. 

He has been left alone this last month and a half, aside from the regular interrogations and proddings and tauntings. He’s simply been locked away in the basement to drown under five feet of concrete and feeling. 

His punishment has been to stay alive despite it all. 

The consequences of failure will certainly be even worse.

Caleb’s attention is suddenly drawn to how his body aches, to how his scrubs smell like stale sweat, to how his stomach clenches around nothing. It had seemed like a good idea in the beginning, to rebel by pushing away small comforts. He thought they were bribing him. He thought they were lulling him into complacency. 

Damien is right - he’s an idiot. He’s only made himself easier to break. 

Damien laughs, the sound cruel and slow. “I think I just saw the light leave your eyes,” he comments casually and smirks. He’s satisfied now. 

_ Vengeance.  _ That’s the feeling Caleb couldn’t peg.

He usually feels some sort of thrill at figuring it out, but this time he can’t bring himself to care. 

He drowns in the ocean of empty and hopes they let him stay there as long as he can. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
